Page 095


Undergound. Go to Table of Contents.

   invincible. What were the law enforcement agencies going to do? Come

   and arrest him? He was already a fugitive and he figured things

   couldn't get much worse. He felt as though he would be on the run

   forever, and as if he had already been on the run for a lifetime,

   though it was only a few months.

  

   When he was staying with people from the computer underground, Par was

   careful. But when he was alone in a dingy motel room, or with people

   completely outside that world, he hacked without fear. Blatant,

   in-your-face feats. Things he knew the Secret Service would see. Even

   his illicit voice mailbox had words for his pursuers:

  

   Yeah, this is Par. And to all those faggots from the Secret Service

   who keep calling and hanging up, well, lots of luck. 'Cause, I mean,

   you're so fucking stupid, it's not even funny.

  

   I mean, if you had to send my shit to Apple Computers [for analysis],

   you must be so stupid, it's pitiful. You also thought I had

   blue-boxing equipment [for phreaking]. I'm just laughing trying to

   think what you thought was a blue box. You are so lame.

  

   Oh well. And anyone else who needs to leave me a message, go ahead.

   And everyone take it easy and leave me some shit. Alright. Later.

  

   Despite the bravado, paranoia took hold of Par as it never had before.

   If he saw a cop across the street, his breath would quicken and he

   would turn and walk in the opposite direction. If the cop was heading

   toward him, Par crossed the street and turned down the nearest alley.

   Police of any type made him very nervous.

  

   By the autumn of 1989, Par had made his way to a small town in North

   Carolina. He found a place to stop and rest with a friend who used the

   handle The Nibbler and whose family owned a motel. A couple of weeks

   in one place, in one bed, was paradise. It was also free, which meant

   he didn't have to borrow money from Theorem, who helped him out while

   he was on the run.

  

   Par slept in whatever room happened to be available that night, but he

   spent most of his time in one of the motel chalets Nibbler used in the

   off-season as a computer room. They spent days hacking from Nibbler's

   computer. The fugitive had been forced to sell off his inexpensive

   laptop before arriving in North Carolina.

  

   After a few weeks at the motel, however, he couldn't shake the feeling

   that he was being watched. There were too many strangers coming and

   going. He wondered if the hotel guests waiting in their cars were

   spying on him, and he soon began jumping at shadows. Perhaps, he

   thought, the Secret Service had found him after all.

  

   Par thought about how he could investigate the matter in more depth.

  

   One of The Atlanta Three hackers, The Prophet, called Nibbler

   occasionally to exchange hacking information, particularly security

   bugs in Unix systems. During one of their talks, Prophet told Par

   about a new security flaw he'd been experimenting with on a network

   that belonged to the phone company.

  

   The Atlanta Three, a Georgia-based wing of The Legion of Doom, spent a

   good deal of time weaving their way through BellSouth, the phone

   company covering the south-eastern US. They knew about phone switching